Jac. Ill musicians must be rewarded: There, cavalier, 'tis to buy your silence.
[Exeunt women from above.
Wild. By this light, which at present is scarce an oath, an handkerchief, and a favour!
[Music and guitars tuning on the other side of the Stage.
Bel. Hark, Wildblood! do you hear? There's more melody: On my life, some Spaniards have taken up this post for the same design.
Wild. I'll be with their catguts immediately.
Bel. Pr'ythee, be patient; we shall lose the sport else.
Don Lopez and Don Melchor disguised, with Servants and Musicians on the other side.
Wild. 'Tis some rival of yours or mine, Bellamy; for he addresses to this window.
Bel. Damn him, let's fall on then.
[The two Spaniards and the English fight: The Spaniards are beaten off the Stage; the Musicians on both sides, and Servants, fall confusedly one over the other. They all get off, only Maskall remains upon the ground.
Mask. [Rising.] So all's past, and I am safe: A pox on these fighting masters of mine, to bring me into this danger, with their valours and magnanimities. When I go a-serenading again with them, I'll give them leave to make fiddle-strings of my small-guts.